


That Little Gray Area

by hellowkatey



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Best Friends, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Reader-Insert, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-07-29 06:11:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20077459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellowkatey/pseuds/hellowkatey
Summary: You've worked with the BAU for a few years now, and the misfit band of profiling hot-shots has quickly become your family. In particular, after some extenuating circumstances formed a bond between you, you and the boy wonder, Dr. Spencer Reid, have become extremely close... friends.As things heat up between you and Spencer you both must decide if either of you will ever address that unspoken tension that lies between you or if relationships with a job at the BAU is better left undefined.





	1. Four Years Ago

**Four Years Ago**

You're exponentially more nervous than you expected to be on your first case. You've worked on hundreds of cases in your time at the FBI. You've seen some grizzly shit, and yet, sitting on the infamous private plane of the Behavioral Analysis Unit is 100% more intimidating than you anticipated. No pump up speech in your bathroom mirror could have prepared you for the briefing in which two dozen graphic images of brutally murdered women were flashed before your eyes at seven in the morning.

You watched them while they went through the pictures, most of them not even batting an eye at the intestines pouring out the women's' slashed lower abdomens. Four of them dumped this way, naked and sadistically brutalized. Your first case and you still are working out everyone's names in your head... and you're on a plane to Missouri. 

The plane is quiet. More information was sent in right after take-off detailing a new victim's body being discovered much earlier than the original timeline had predicted. He was escalating and fast. The small town was gong wild, calling in mistaken reports of missing women whenever someone wouldn't answer their cell phone... a rather large overreaction considering the area is well known by the locals to have awful cell service in the first place. 

Nonetheless, the news seemed to cause all the agents to withdraw into their own pre-case rituals. Morgan was curled up listening to music and Prentiss sat next to him reading a book. Rossi and Hotch talked quietly together over a file and JJ was on her laptop and periodically making calls. Reid was also buried in a book in the corner of the jet. You got up to go to the bathroom, partially to actually relieve yourself but also because you were internally starting to freak out a little bit. On your old teams, you fit in so easily. Everyone was ultra welcoming and let you know the routine right away. This team, while welcoming in their own special ways, was intimidating to walk into. They're all so intimate with one another and their personal lives. The BAU is well-known as a life sucker--perfect for you, who has no close family or many friends outside the FBI who live in the area--but now you understand why these people have been here for so long. They are each other's family. Just like a stranger sitting among a close family, it is pretty overwhelming. 

You splash some water on your face and neck and reemerge into the main cabin to find that your previous seat on the opposite of Rossi and Hotch has now been occupied by Prentiss who is deep in discussion about something with the pair. Not wanting to steal Emily's seat, you settle down on the long couch-like seat next to Reid, who lowers the book he was reading to smile at you.

"Can I sit?" you ask and he nods. 

"Excited for your first case?" 

"Is it even worth it to lie about being nervous on a plane full of profilers?" 

He chuckles softly, laying his book down in his lap. "It's okay to be nervous. I still remember being scared out of my mind on my first case."

"Don't you remember everything though?" 

He half rolls his eyes. "Everything I see. It's not like hyperthymesia or anything but I suppose it can seem like it sometimes." 

You reach down and grab his book out of his lap. Keeping a finger on his page, though you're sure he remembers where he left off, you flip to a random page. 

"Page 47, line 5." 

He raises his eyebrow, his lip curling a little at the corner. "But that was just my luck, you see, my dear." 

"Page 68, last sentence in the second paragraph." 

"But that was her ultimate demise, I suppose." 

"Pretty good." you chuckle, setting the book back down in front of him. "You must be great at parties." 

"Pretty boy, here?" Morgan's voice rings out from his seat, where he seems to have tuned into your memory test. "depends on if the party is actually Comic-Con." 

"I went twice, Morgan. I was like, twenty-five,"

"Once is passable. You found out it's at your hotel and decide to check it out, 'cause, what the hell, right? Twice is deliberate and I am legally required to give you shit about it once every month." 

Reid groans and Morgan returns to his music, probably much to Spencer's relief. 

You lean forward once you're certain Morgan isn't listening in to your conversation anymore, the corner of your mouth twitching up as you try not to smile at your own revelation you are revealing to Spencer. 

"I've been five times. Even dressed up one year," you whisper and he breaks out into a huge grin. 

"Who did you dress as?" 

"Black Canary." 

"No way, my mom used to have Birds of Prey #82 in her house. She accidentally took it home with her from a doctor's office when I was like five, but it was the first real comic book I had ever seen. It really got me into some other comics. Did you know that in the reworking of Dinah's story the writers of Bloodspell..." 

And thus, Reid got off on a quick talking tangent about DC comics and the evolution of not just your favorite DC hero but also the idea of the Justice League and the symbolic properties behind the members. You had absolutely no idea how long he talked, but you were fascinated. It was like someone reading off an article to you, but the facts were just pouring out his brain. You sat and listened intently, making a few mental notes to look a few things he was mentioning up later. It also gave you a good chance to really take a look at Spencer. You've previously had the least amount of interactions with him and knew the least about him...besides some warnings to not indulge him on his rants...

On the outside, you would never have guessed the tall, floppy-haired and puppy dog eyed man was an FBI agent. His soft smile and kind eyes make him seem so approachable and unintimidating as compared to the others on the team. Things make more sense when he opens his brain up, as he was. His brilliance exudes off of him in a way that would seem unfair to find him doing anything but catching serial killers. It's weird energy, but it works for him. Gray slacks, a dark purple shirt, and a light gray sweater buttoned over his cardigan just suit him in a way you don't really understand. Spencer Reid is an enigma in your mind, and you want to find out why. 

A hand clamps down on your shoulder, giving you a soft squeeze. You look up to see Rossi standing behind you, staring at Reid as he continues to rattle off about an obscure comic you truthfully had never even heard of. 

"You're allowed to tell him to shut up, you know," he says softly, amusement laced in his voice. 

"I know. It's interesting though, I don't mind." 

Rossi chuckles softly. "Then kid, you are much stronger than the rest of us." 


	2. Three Years Ago

**Three Years Ago**

Something feels very wrong about this case. You can't put your finger on it, but you have a horrible feeling. Maybe it's the practically vacant police station making you uneasy. Maybe it's the discovery of yet another woman in a significantly quicker time frame than was profiled. 

Other than yourself in the small-town police station, there are a few cops at their desks answering calls and working on paperwork, an officer manning a drunkard in the cell, and JJ speaking to some reporters in the office. Better here than stalking the fresh crime scene. 

You sip on the stale coffee, wondering what's going on at the scene right now. You can imagine Derek in the midst of his role-playing, eyebrows scrunched together as he walks through the crime scene with Hotch close behind him. Spencer would be looking at the body or checking out what the killer left-- this one was very fond of leaving taunting clues. You wish you could be there, but at the same time, you're also glad you drew the short straw and Rossi told you to stay here with JJ. The women that have been getting murdered have eerily similar features to yours in terms of hair color, build, and eye color. You know you shouldn't be worried, not with this type of organized sociopathic killer. He wouldn't be so stupid to kidnap an FBI agent, especially with his identity still unknown. 

You take out your phone to see if Spencer sent you any pictures. He promised before he left he would keep you in the loop. Thinking of him makes you smile. You've come a long way in a year, warming up quickly and becoming fast friends. When you have weekends off, you still tend to spend them together, joking that nearly spending every waking moment with one another at work still doesn't make you tire of one another. He's a good friend, obviously smart but to your surprise, really funny. Plus, you seem to be immune to his tangents, which has been a big deal on the team, as many will grab you and place you in front of him when they find themselves trapped in one of his rants. You used to think it rude, but he told you it doesn't bother him. You notice he seems to smile whenever Morgan will grab you by the forearm and pull you into the conversation as a human shield to Spencer's fixations on 15th-century literature or cultural ideologies of the citizens of Papua New Guinea. 

Seeing nothing you sigh and go to close your phone when you notice a small blip at the top of your screen. You stop and pull it closer to your eyes to see. No service. Damn. 

You remember being able to make a call earlier outside the front lobby. You walk out the front, watching as your bars quickly increase once out of the building. Immediately, a flood of texts and missed calls start streaming in, and you start trudging through them.

The first is from Emily. Crime scene photos. This one look bloodier than the last few. Hurried. More disorganized. The killer must be devolving, feeling the pressure. You wonder if the team is closer than they think to finding him. Something in his behavior has definitely changed. You click on a text from Hotch. 

_Y/N, where are you? _

_Call when you get this, we are on our way back._

Where are you? They told you to stay at the station. Maybe they tried to contact you and got nervous when you didn't pick up. You finally click on Spencer's conversation, only to find about ten unread texts filling up the entire screen.

_Picture of you at the scene. Coming back to the station now. _

_['Image message downloading']_

_You are a target, DO NOT LEAVE STATION_

_Are you okay? You are going straight to voicemail._

Your eyes widen as you process the messages, immediately calling Spencer. He answers immediately, your name the first thing out of his mouth. 

"Spencer!" You say, clenching the phone tightly in your hand. "What happened?" 

"Where are you?" he asks, relief evident in his voice.

"I'm at the station. Had no service inside." 

"You're outside?" You hear yelling in the background. "Go inside right now, y/n. We think the unsub is coming for you. He had pictures of you at the crime scene, you when we first got here, when we were at the other crime scenes, you going into your hotel room..."

"Oh my god," you turn, walking back into the lobby as you hear the sirens approaching quickly.

"We're almost back, just hang on. Go... inside... be..." The phone starts to cut out as you reenter the station, but the sound of a gunshot inside the station makes you stop in your tracks, dropping the phone from your ear. You can hear Spencer screaming at you as he cuts through the static. 

You slip your phone into your pocket and take out your gun, slowly stalking to where you can see the main bullpen. Where there was once no activity chaos has erupted. Heavy fire is taking place. The desk officers are trapped beneath their desks, guns were drawn but unable to do anything but cradle their heads in their laps while a storm of bullets cuts through the walls behind them. You can already see the cell guard lying motionless across the room, which can only mean...

You scan to the source of the rapid weapon, only to see the drunk man that was asleep on the holding cell bench just a moment ago holding a police-issue firearm and a semi-automatic rifle. Last name Hanson, if you remember correctly. 

You can't see JJ, but you can see a few shots being fired from the direction of the office you last saw her in. You try to get a good shot, but you don't have an angle. The sirens are clearer now, and you know backup will be here soon, which is good. You will need them if you want to survive this. 

"Hanson!" you scream, stepping out just enough so he can see you but you can't get hit by his steam of bullets. The shooting slows for a moment as Hanson whirls around, his eyes fixating on you. He's closer to you than you would like, tucked in a corner so he could see the entire room and not get caught with someone finding a shot behind him. To you, he's only a few big steps away. Too close for comfort. Even worse, he has the reporter JJ was talking to pulled tight against his chest, now with a gun to his head. A human shield. 

"You," he says, pointing the semi-automatic at you. "You know what I want, don't you?" 

"You can't have what you want," you reply, your gun cocked and ready. "It's over." 

"Dear, it is never over." he smiles, a wild look in his eye. "Not with you so close." 

He takes a step towards you. You can see down the barrel of the semi-automatic. 

"Why do you want me?" 

"Why? You're perfect. The ultimate conquest." he takes another step. You can smell gunpowder and burning. "Those other women put up no fight, had no spunk." 

"You drugged them." you point out and he rolls his eyes. 

"Details, my dear. Now, I would hate it for this man to die because you were snarky, so I will give you a choice. You can replace him, and we will walk out of here, or you can witness his death." 

You glance around. JJ is shaking her head, her eyes wide. She doesn't have a shot. The other officers have not gotten up yet and looking at the carnage of their desks, you are not sure they made it through the storm of bullets. The reporter looks absolutely terrified, blood running rapidly down his temple. 

"Please," the reporter pleads. 

"It's going to be okay," you say to him, slowly lowering your weapon. 

"On the floor," Hanson instructs, and you set the weapon down on the floor, hoping for an opening to get a last-minute shot, but the reporter is a broad man. Hanson is completely shielded by his body. Your gun clatters down and you stand back up with your hands in the air. "Now, come closer," he says, loosening his arm wrapped around the reporter. You take a single step, and Hanson lurches at you, the reporter dropping to the ground and suddenly you feel his arm come tight around your throat and the cool metal of a gun press to your head. "Good choice, dear," he says. You can feel his slimy smile. He takes a step back with you and his gun comes down, pointing at the reporter. Before you say anything, he fires off three shots, and the whimpering reporter is silent. 

Your ears ring. You know you're yelling something, but you can't hear yourself. You look for JJ and find her ducking as Hanson fires at her as he pulls you back towards the emergency exit on the side of the station. 

The gun presses harder into your head, and then he swings you around so you're walking in front of him, the gun pointing into your spine. 

"Great job." his muffled voice breaks through the ringing. "I always get what I want." 

He was supposed to be smarter than this. He was organized, ritualistic. An ambush on the police station for one victim was not in the profile for him. He was supposed to be smart, meticulous, a handsome man in his early thirties, but this man is older. Strong and burley, but well into his forties at the least. If he were to grab you while you were outside or pull a ruse, that would have made sense, but an all-out firefight... It didn't add up. 

Unless...

"You're not the one who killed those women," you say as he pushes you into the cool outdoors. 

"I am, I did it," he says through his teeth, pressing the gun against you harshly. 

"No, the _real_ unsub is socially competent. Smooth-talking. Doesn't need guns. Doesn't like them, in fact." 

"You're wrong."

"He has something about him though, that makes people want to be friends with him. Want to be apart of whatever he's doing. You're what... an errand boy? He tells you what you like and you fetch him his victims like room service?" 

"Shut up, you bit--"

"That's it isn't it. It explains why he felt the pressure. We already interviewed him, didn't we, and he got cautious. Started using you to get his victims so he could have a rock-solid alibi during the disappearances. It ruined his pleasure though. He felt rushed with the last woman, and that made him angry, not having perfection." 

"She died too quickly. Jeff cut too deep."

You make a mental note of the name Jeff. Probably Jeffery Downings, a high-level executive at a data company that you yourself interviewed around the time you first arrived on the case. He was meant to only be a witness, but he gave you the creeps. Now you know why. 

"And he needed someone to blame. So he blamed the FBI agent that put the pressure on him. Threw off his groove. And he sent you to collect me like the coward he is." 

You can feel the pressure increasing on the gun, to an amount that is nearly unbearable despite your high pain tolerance, when there is screeching of tires, and the sound of guns being cocked. You are immediately pulled into Hanson's chest, shifted so you're facing the large black SUV facing you. The doors are open, and you see the barrels of guns sticking through the windows. 

"Drop the weapon!" Spencer's voice rings out through the night. He steps out, and Hanson's gun points directly at him. 

"Don't do this, Hanson. Don't be his errand boy." 

'I am important to him. He needs me." 

"He's been doing this on his own for weeks. You're disposable, just a means to and ends. Stop this, Hanson, drop the weapons." 

His knuckles are white around the gun, but he's shaken now. Considering what you've been telling him. 

"You can make it out of this, you just have to put the guns down and let the woman go," Spencer yells, his face peeking out, trained on Hanson. It's not often you see Spencer truly angry, but at this moment he is absolutely raging. 

You urge Hanson again, and his aim falters slightly. You're so close. You can see Spencer starting to step out from behind the door, Rossi now also coming into view. More sirens pull into the front of the police station. 

"There will be agents everywhere in a moment. This is your last chance. Drop. The weapon." you say, slowly reaching out your hand towards the gun as his grip on you loosens. He starts to pull it in, it just beyond your fingertips when the door to the station slams open, and there is the loud noise of a firing gun, a scream, and a red-hot pain in your side. 

Hanson screams, releasing you completely as a rain of gunfire immediately cuts into him from nearly every direction. It's like... it's in slow motion almost. The bullets flying through the air and disappearing over your shoulder as you approach the gravel ground. 

The gun. The one he had pressed to the lower left side of your back. You finally hit the ground, and you roll into a ball, reaching down to touch just below your hip bone where a warm sticky liquid meets your cold fingers. Through and through. 

The ringing is back, but you can hear the pounding of footsteps on gravel echoing through your mind. In an instant, a familiar face looms over you. 

Spencer drops to his knees, slipping his arm underneath your head and neck and pulling you practically in his lap as his other hand presses against the bleeding bullet hole. 

You can't really hear him but you can tell he's saying your name over and over again, his eyes wide and frantic. Your other team members come into view, saying things you can't really hear. You feel a warm liquid running down your neck, and you reach up to touch your ear, which feels like it's vibrating. 

You curl into Spencer, your head pressing into his stomach as he pulls you in tighter. 

"It's going to be okay." you can just barely make out with your ears literally pressed into him. "You did great, y/n." 

"Spence." you form his name on your lips, not quite sure if you vocalized it as your eyes flutter closed. 

* * *

Your eyelids are heavy. You would give into their drudging if it weren't for the piercing feeling in your side that is urging you to wake up and attend to it. As you open your eyes, you find yourself not in your hotel room or at home, but in a dimly lit blandly painted room with a painting of a flower vase in earth tones and a steady beeping in the background. You glance to either side to see a large array of wires--both connected to you and not-- haloing your sleeping figure. The beeping increases ten-fold as you try to sit up, but that pain in your side stops you. 

Across the room, there is a sudden movement, and a dark figure stands quickly. You open your mouth to yell for help, scanning for your gun, but Spencer's familiar face comes into view just in time. He reaches out to you, his hand cupping your cheek. 

"You're back. You're okay," he says, letting out deep breaths like he's been holding them all this time. Besides the relief, you notice the dark circles under his eyes. His disheveled wavy locks matted at the side of his head. His worry lines are more prominent than normal. 

You frown. "How long was I out? What happened to me?" 

"Just a little over 35 hours now. Edward Hanson was attempting to you take you to Jeffery Downings, the unsub. Some... idiot officer came barging through the door, spooked him, and he shot you in the side. Didn't do as much damage as it could have, which is lucky. You did blow both your eardrums, though, which is why everything may seem a little muffled right now."

You realize he's right about the muffled noises, and you can faintly make out some continued ringing. 

"Doctor says it will heal naturally in a few weeks." 

"Good... good. Did you get Downings?" 

Spencer smiles, shaking his head. "We got him. It's all over now. We have the tape of what you were saying to Hanson. Used it to get a pretty quick confession." 

Flashes of being Hanson's target flash into your brain. The feeling of the gun in your back. Watching the life get thrust from that reporter's eyes and the slumped figures of the police officers behind their desks. JJ looking panicked and angry. Spencer's face standing over you. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to push those memories from your mind. Spencer reaches down and squeezes your hand. 

"It's hard at first," he says softly. "You won't be able to get any of it out of your mind. But it gets better. I'll help you get through this." 

The door to your room opens, and your team members peer in before practically flooding the room. In an instant, Emily, Derek, Hotch, and Rossi have filed in. Emily and Derek crowd behind Spencer, firing off questions about how you feel and pain levels and such. You keep your eyes locked with Reid's for a few moments longer before melting back into reality, his hand slipping out of yours as he steps back to give your team members a turn. 


	3. Two Years Ago

**Two Years Ago**

You could tell something was up with Spencer. You usually can. After you were shot the last year, his anxiety shot through the roof. He was jumpy, looking at you whenever there was a loud noise. Garcia expressed her concern in the change in Reid. If she could see that he was not doing well, you know the team of profilers were aware. 

You hadn't really gotten to talk about the shooting much. No one really mentioned it, especially not Spencer. It took you cornering him after work one day for him to break down and tell you that he had been having nightmares about watching you die. You went to his apartment that night and had a long conversation about the entire situation. You printed out a picture of the two of you that was taken with one of the crime scene cameras when Prentiss was testing out a new lens. You're standing in the office kitchen, leaning back against the counter mid-laugh while Reid is in the middle of stepping backwards, his coffee cup caught in the picture just moments after toppling over. Spencer looks so surprised in it, but he has a big smile on his face as he doesn't look at the coffee spilling, but at you throwing your head back in laughter. 

It's a sweet picture. You and Reid got roasted for it endlessly for about a week at just how "cute" it was. You both shook it off, but you later asked Emily to send you the file, which earned you look that you couldn't quite decode. Nonetheless, you got it printed and bought a cheap frame from the drugstore and gave it to Spencer to look at whenever he is remembering that day. Rosy-cheeked and laughing, there is not a picture of the two of you where you look more alive. 

For a few months, things seemed to get better. Spencer reported his nightmares decreased drastically and he seemed to get back to normal... as normal as Spencer Reid can be.

But now, you can sense he's not sleeping again. His dark circles are back, he's increased his coffee consumption, and he's been much grumpier than normal. At the end of a long case, you spot him exiting the office, and you grab your bag and run after him. 

"Spence!" You call out as he steps into the elevator, and he sticks his arm out to wait for you. You step in and the doors close, making your approach to ask him if his nightmares are back seem much more daunting. He smiles at you, but his smile is weak, lacking the luster you usually get from your best friend. "What is it?" 

"What is what?" he says, his smile downturning. 

"You're not sleeping again." His lips press together at your words. "Are you having nightmares again?" 

"I never stopped having nightmares, y/n. I just get used to them, I guess." 

"So why aren't you sleeping then." 

He sighs, looking down at the ground. "Honestly, I have no idea. Just an insomnia episode, I suspect. I've tried everything but nothing works." 

You reach over and squeeze his hand. "Do you want me to come over?" you whisper.

This action was quite a gray area in your friendship. It's an innocent enough request, but you both know the weight that it has been holding as of lately. After your shooting, you stayed with Reid for a few weeks, which was not something either of you shared with the team. You both live alone, and it was soothing knowing there was someone else around, even if you were in different rooms. 

You eventually returned to your own apartment, but then Spencer's nightmares began. After giving him the picture, it was late and he asked if you wanted to stay. You settled on watching a movie since the both of you weren't quite ready to go to bed yet. Of course, almost as soon as the movie began, you both passed out on his couch in exhaustion. 

Sometime in the night, you slipped from where your head had drooped to the side to lay down across the couch. Spencer also apparenlty had a smiliar happening in his sleep. His couch, while long enough to fit his tall frame, was not quite deep enough for you to end up laying just side by side. When you both awoke to sunlight streaming through the windows, you found yourselfs wrapped up in one another. Spencer's arms craddled you into his chest and your legs were intertwined tightly. You woke up first, startled by the close proximity. Your wiggling woke him up, and you both very drowzily untangled from one another and sat on opposite ends of the couch, processing what you had awoken to. 

Nothing happened. You feel asleep and woke up in a different position. 

That was the thing though... it was an incredible sleep for the both of you. You woke up feeling refreshed for the first time in a long time and Reid got a full night of sleep without a single nightmare interrupting him. 

The entire incident was left untouched for awhile. You hadn't stayed over at his apartment since then, guest room or anything. Neither of you brought it up, in fact you acted as though it never occured. 

Until now, of course. 

There was a desperation in his eye. He _needed_ to go to sleep. You really wanted... you really needed him get that sleep too. You didn't have to explain what you meant by your question, but by the twitch in his eyebrow and the nervous chewing at this lip, you knew he understood. He nods yes to your question of coming over. 

The elevator opens into the ground level and you walk out together, quiet and walking side by side. His lack of words is killing you. You need him to say somthing to ease the tension that has formed in that damn elevator. You parked next to one another so as you reach your car you look back at him and he smiles. 

"I'll see you soon." 

Relief washes though you, but it is unable to quench the anxiety digging at the back of your throat. 

You swing by your house and change out of your work clothes and into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. Throwing a sweatshirt on over you get back in your car and drive the short distance to Spencer's apartment. You can't tell if the butterfliesin your stomach as you knock on his apartment door are due to dread of the unknown of what is about to happen, or... excitement? 

"Hi." he answers the door, also changed out of his slacks and dress shirt. He wears an old MIT t-shirt and a pair of dark blue flannel pajama pants. 

"Hey." you step in, placing your keys on the table next to the door and slipping your shoes off. 

You walk past him, sitting down on the edge of his couch. He follows, sitting next to you. 

"Is uh, is this weird?" he asks, fumbling over his words. "I just, I don't know if this is weird or if it's just me or if--"

"I don't know, Spence." you chuckle. "This is some uncharted territory if I've ever seen it." 

"Right. Well, you know sleeping with another person... I mean like actually sleeping, not the other kind of sleeping with, you know--"

"Spencer..." 

"Yes, I know, I know. I'm just saying that studies have shown that there are certain health benefits to sleeping next to someone, like lowering blood pressure, strengthening the immune system, and overall having more restorative sleep and regular sleep patterns and--"

"So it's science." you interrupt. 

"Yes, exactly," 

"Another method of helping your insomnia." 

"You're, um, you're my best friend, so it only makes sense it would be you. The more comfortable you are with someone the more likely you are able to fall asleep faster in their presence." 

"When did you research this, Spence?" you laugh. 

"I've, uh..." he brushes his hair back out of his face. "I've been thinking about this for a few days now. Wondering if it would work." 

"You didn't say anything." 

"We didn't really talk about it in the first place, y/n. Was I just supposed to bring it up out of the blue?" 

He has a point there.

"Well, for the sake of science and getting you some sleep..." you stand up and hold your hand out. "let's go to bed." 

He takes your hand to stand up and you both walk back towards his room. Entering his bedroom truly makes the entire thing surreal. You step back so he can go on the side of his queen size bed that he prefers and then you take the other side, pulling back the covers and climbing in after him. His sheets are soft and the weight of the blankets on top of you already have you feeling drowsy. They smell like him.

You both lie on your backs, space between you. As you become a little more sleepy, you roll to the side you like to sleep on, allowing yourself to fully relax. Your back is to him, and you can feel him still lying stiff in place. You figure letting him come to relax on his own is the best plan. You're tunneling into sleep when you feel movement beside you. His body begins to relax, and he rolls so you can feel his breath grazing the back of your neck from afar. Tingles shoot down your spine but you stay still, trying hard to maintain your even breaths. 

You know him well enough that he's sitting there debating what to do. To just stay there and see where the night takes him or to go for it and snuggle into you. A little known fact of Spencer Reid is that physical touch is fairly highly-ranking of his love languages. He just overthinks so often and gets nervous in social situations that oftentimes he comes off as cold. You started noticing it when you would go to movies with him. He was constantly touching you, nudging you or grabbing your forearm when something was funny, taking your hand when something was sad. When you were out and about together when not at work you would walk arm in arm at times, especially when it was cold. He hugged you often and threw his arm over your shoulders casually. What you appreciated the most was how good Spencer is at knowing the appropriate times to display his affection. His affections were always subtle and professional when they needed to be. 

Cuddling isn't exactly an explored field for the two of you, but you have no doubt it is something that weirdly enough feels natural in your mind when you think about it. While the preface to all of this has been weird, you find yourself hoping he snuggles up closer to you, not only so he will relax, but you are wondering how it will feel to be in an intimate position with him.

It takes fifteen minutes or so, but you feel him shift closer to you, his body heat radiating close enough that you can feel it against your back. In a swift, altogether motion, Spencers's arms reach around and pull you into his chest, just like on the couch many months ago. You feel his hand gently brush your hair to the side, and he rests his head so it's just a few inches from the back of your head. Your stomach explodes with butterflies and you get this dizzying feeling but your body just keeps telling you, _don't you dare move_. Spencer's warmth encapsulates you and as you drift into your own sleep you can hear quiet snores coming from his motionless figure. 


	4. One Year Ago

**One Year Ago**

"What's up with you and Reid anyways?" Emily asks you, sipping on a gin and tonic. You had finished a local case in D.C. that morning--the son of a Supreme Court Justice had been kidnapped by an angry and delusional lobbyist of a controversial bill that got denied. They thankfully found the boy by morning, and after doing paperwork for much of the day decided to go out for a drink to celebrate a smooth case. 

"We're friends," you reply, chewing on the straw of your drink. "Really close friends." 

"Uh-huh. That all?" 

Prentiss may have overhead a conversation you and Reid were having in the break room about the heating in your apartment being broken the last few weeks. He made some snide comment about staying at his place and that "he'd keep you warm". It was a joke (kind of?) but it definitely didn't sound like friend behavior. 

You've considered talking to Emily about what's been going on between you and Reid for a while now. She's a friend, trustworthy and can certainly keep a secret if you ask her to. Plus, she's a damn good profiler and probably has guessed you've begun to form feelings for your favorite boy genius for a few months now. Maybe has even known longer than you've realized it. 

"Ask me again after a few drinks," you grumble, and she grins, nudging you in the side. 

"Holy shit, it's true." 

"I didn't admit to anything, you'll never get that claim to hold up in court." 

"Don't be embarrassed, y/n. I won't tell him. When you're ready for that, that's up to you." 

"Thank you," 

"You should know though," she smirks. "if you're worried about the rest of the team finding out, just know you two have already long outlasted any of our bets. Morgan bet a year and a half ago you would get together in six months. I gave it a year. Hotch and Rossi agreed on two years, so it looks like they might--"

"_Hotch and Rossi_ are in on this?" you exclaim, placing your head in your hands. "You're kidding." 

"Garcia gave you three months." 

"Jesus, I spend too much time with you people." you down the rest of your drink, feeling the alcohol start to take effect. 

Emily places a hand on your arm as you stand up to get another drink. "Jokes aside, if this is what you want, the team is behind you." 

You out a nervous breath, smiling at her. "Thanks, Emily." 

She releases you and you head up to the bar where the rest of the team is seated. Still a little shaken by your conversation with Prentiss, you wedge yourself between Morgan and JJ, just glancing over at Reid who is on the other side of Derek and giving him a small smile. 

"Back for seconds already?" Morgan chuckles as you get the attention of the bartender and give him your order. 

"Uh, I think this is thirds actually." 

"You've got the right idea," JJ chuckles, raising her glass. 

The bartender hands you your drink and you hold out some bills to close your tab. Three is usually your limit when you go out with the team. He shakes his head. 

"Gentleman at the end of the bar paid your tab. Wanted me to give you this." he holds out the receipt with a phone number scribbled in big numbers and the words "come say hi?" written underneath it. 

"Uh, thank you." 

The bartender grumbles something about playing cupid and sulks off to take another order. Morgan, JJ, and Reid, who encountered this entire exchange are now staring at you. You step back, uncomfortably, especially avoiding Spencer's gaze. 

"Someone's got an admirer." 

"Passing a note? How very ninth grade." Reid says in a very neutral tone, reaching over to read it. It makes you nervous that you can't get a read on him right now. 

"I think it's cute." JJ laughs. "He's kind of cute too." 

You look across the bar to where a man is watching you examine the receipt. He gives you a small wave and you give a polite smile and wave back. You immediately turn to JJ. 

"What do I do?" 

"Do you want to talk to him?" 

"No, I mean... I don't know. He paid for my drinks, should I thank him?" 

She chuckles, placing a hand on your shoulder. "You can go talk to him or ignore him completely. Up to you." 

Your head is spinning. You don't want to be rude and just ignore him when he seems to be doing a nice thing, but you also are worried about what Spencer will think. If he'll take it as a sign you aren't interested in him romantically. You chew on your lip, weighing the pros and cons before picking up your drink and letting your legs walk you towards the man sitting at the other end of the bar. 

_I'm just going to thank him. Shake his hand, say I'm flattered. And get out of there._ You coach yourself. Suddenly you're standing behind him, and he turns slowly, his face brightening to see you standing there. He is attractive. A short military haircut, tall, and quite built. You notice a badge sticking out of his pocket. A parking pass for the Pentagon. 

"Hey," he holds out his hand to shake. "I'm Wesley." 

You smile, returning the handshake. "Y/N. Thank you for picking up my tab. That was very nice. Unexpected." 

"You're very welcome. You're very beautiful, by the way. Do you want to sit?" 

You glance over at your team. JJ and Derek are not so subtly watching your every move. What makes your heart leap is that Spencer isn't sitting next to Derek anymore. Panic starts to course through you. 

"Uh, thank you, but I'm here with my co-workers. I should really be getting back." 

"No problem," he smiles. "You have my number if you want to get together some other time." 

You hold up the half crumbled receipt you're still holding in your hand. You give him a final smile and then head back towards your team, panning your head side to side looking for Spencer. 

You get back to Derek and JJ who look kind of concerned. "What's wrong? Did he say something?" 

"I'll kick his ass--" Morgan starts but you hold up a hand to stop him.

"No, Wesley was fine. Nice guy." 

"Then why do you look like you've seen a ghost?" 

"I just... It's warm in here, I think I'll step outside and get some air." 

"Do you want me to come with you?" JJ asks, her brows knit together with real concern. You internally groan at causing such concern for such a dumb reason. 

"No, I'm good. I'll be right back." 

You turn away, pushing through the crowded bar towards the door. You preemptively take out your cell phone to call Reid when you spot a mop of hair seated in a booth in the far corner. You reroute, walking over to the booth to find Spencer sitting there, sipping on a glass of club soda. You slide into the booth slowly, and he watches you closely. 

"Hey," you say, folding your hands in front of you. 

"Hey." 

"I think we need to talk." He nods, staring off at a spot behind you, his jaw set. "Are you mad at me?" 

His face softens. "No, of course not. At myself? Yes, a little bit." 

"Why is that, Spence?" 

He leans back in the booth, running a hand through his hair. After glancing around, he leans forward. "Can we go somewhere where our coworkers aren't hiding behind tall strangers to spy on us?" 

You look over to see JJ, Morgan, Emily, and Garcia very suspiciously looking in every direction but at the two of you. You scoff. 

"Let's take a walk." 

The night is chilly but clear. With no wind, it's perfect for a walk down the bar-lined street. You and Spencer walk alongside one another, hands stuffed in your pockets. You decide to break the awkward silence. 

"I just thanked him." 

"I know," he said, staring straight ahead. "I know that. I was a jerk. I got protective and upset, and it was really, really dumb." 

"If it makes you feel better, my first thought when receiving that note was that he was going to try and kill me," you admit. 

"Knowing some of the scumbags we've put away, that's a fair first thought." Spencer chuckles. He kicks a bottlecap on the sidewalk, sending it flying down into the gutter. "I thought about that too," he mutters. 

"Spence," you stop, grabbing his hand. "We're friends...right?"

He blinks a few times but smiles weakly. "We're best friends, Y/N." 

"So you can tell me anything. And I can tell you anything?" 

"Of course." 

You let out a deep breath. "Do you... Are you... shit." You squeeze your eyes shut, looking for the right words. 

"You want to know why I had to go sit in the corner when you went to go talk to that man. Or why I have to make an active effort to not give in to inviting you over and acting like my insomnia is acting up so I can be close to you for a whole night. Or that you dying in my arms is one of my worst fears, before getting shot or kidnapped myself." 

"Spence..." 

"I really tried to rationalize it. Take a few weeks to sleep alone and see if anything changed. Sometimes close proximity causes feelings that are an infatuation, not real love. Maybe it's just lust, or that I feel myself around you. You validate me and lift me up and listen to when I'm yapping like an idiot. But I think about you, all the damn time. When I'm with you, I notice myself looking for you with everything I say and do. When we're apart I think about what you would say if you were there. I know we're friends, but if you don't feel the--"

"Spencer!" you almost yell, placing your hands on either of his cheeks. "Shut up!" 

He stares into your eyes, breathing heavily from his rapid talking... or maybe his nerves. His gaze dips down to your lips and then flashes up again. You quickly lick your bottom lip, your own eyes flickering down to his parted lips. His hand comes up to greet yours, softly covering it and intertwining his fingers between yours on his cheek. His other hand slips down, running down your side until it meets your waist. Curling his arm behind you he pulls you into him, your foreheads meeting, lips only centimeters apart. 

"Do you want this?" he says in a breathy voice. You can feel your heart pounding against your chest in delightful anticipation. 

"I really, really do," you say, and you dip in, pressing your lips against his softly. 


	5. Now

**Now.**

"What's on your mind?" Spencer asks, brushing your hair back and pressing a soft kiss to the skin below your ear.

"Not much. Thinking about how I found myself here today." 

He squeezes you into him, pressing his fingers into your sides to make you cry out in laughter at your ticklish spot. "I'm not much, huh?" 

"That's not what I meant." you giggle, freeing from his grasp and flipping over so you can look at him. "I'm just happy." 

He smiles, his eyes doing the thing where they twinkle and cause butterflies to erupt in your gut. You reach out and brush a loose lock of hair out of his fact, running your fingers delicately down his cheek and pausing to squish into his lips. He kisses your finger, bringing his hand up to take your hand in his. He kisses the back of your hand three times, holding the last one a few seconds longer than the first two. Spencer has never really been the greatest with words, but those three kisses mean more than any words could. 

"I love you, too," you grin, squeezing his hand and leaning forward to press a kiss to his temple. All is serene for a blissful moment. You are laying in the arms of the man you love on a Monday night. This is your normal, now, and you couldn't be happier with it. As Spencer brushes his hands up and down your back in rhythmic waves, you close your eyes and just live in this moment and revel in the safety and love that drips from the memory. But just like every good moment, the sound of a phone ringing draws you from your trance. You untangle from Spencer, reaching over and answering your vibrating cell phone. 

"Good evening Y/N, I'm sorry to be calling so late, but--" 

"Briefing in half an hour?" you interrupt Hotch, knowing full well what his tone of voice means for the rest of your night. 

"Yes...See you soon. Thanks,"

You hang up, setting the phone back on the table and flopping down on the bed. After a moment of mourning for your relaxing night with your boyfriend, you sit up, plant a quick kiss on Spencer's lips, and tousle his hair. 

"We're going back in?" 

"It wouldn't be a day off without having to go into work, now would it?" 

"Those don't exist at the BAU, you should know that by now." 

You both slip on your real clothes and freshen up. As you glance over at Spencer brushing his teeth with one hand while attempting to comb through his mop of tangles with the other you can't help but laugh, your annoyance with having to go into work dissipating quickly. _This_. Along with waking up next to Spencer every morning, _this_ is your normal as well. And you couldn't be more thrilled. 


End file.
